


no complaints

by divinetock3



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Birthday Sex, F/M, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, my sexuality: domestic jason todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 12:43:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20276101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divinetock3/pseuds/divinetock3
Summary: reader is determined to give jason a nice, simple birthday celebration.





	no complaints

**Author's Note:**

> song: no complaints no conversations by watsky  
happy birthday jason!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! it feels like it's actually someone i know's birthday and i'm a little too happy about it akhdfgkdjg i wrote this within a few hours, i've had the idea for a While and i'm happy i got it out so quickly. i have a looooong and emotional week ahead of me, at work and in my personal life, so hopefully getting this written down will make me feel better :) hope you're all doing amazing n continue to !

There’s a good chance this could not blow over well. 

The night already started hectic: [Name], who views cooking as rocket science and limits herself to the _very_ complicated dish that is spaghetti and meatballs, took it upon herself to bake a cake. As important as it was to her, she knew not to give herself too much credit and decided upon a simple chocolate cake with vanilla frosting and put her calligraphy skills to the test with some red icing. Sticking religiously to the recipe, the cake was fine—until it started splitting when trying to get it out of the pan and after weeping into the phone to her extremely confused mother, she got the cake out and truthfully it looks fine—much better than she was expecting and thought herself capable—but it isn’t the cake that’s bothering her.

It’s that everything needs to be perfect. Jason didn’t come from a good childhood, much less a happy one. Bruce and Alfred love him, but from what little she’s gathered from Jason’s past at the manor, he’s never had homemade cake or anything else every other child and teen has had for their birthday. “When I turned fifteen Bruce gave me a pat on the shoulder, a watch I didn’t ask for, and we went out and took down a drug deal.” Those were the kinds of celebrations he was used to. 

Unfortunately, he’d gotten used to them and pretty much shunned every idea she’s had for his birthday in the three years they’ve been dating. The first year she hadn’t even known it was his birthday until two days later—because he hadn’t told her. She had to find out when Dick asked, “So, Jay, what’d you do for your twentieth?” Although, rationally, she knew it wasn’t her fault she wasn’t psychic, it broke her heart and she felt awful for not knowing. It was the worst feeling, having to stand there in front of Dick and ask Jason what the hell Dick was talking about. And then it turned into Jason comforting her, which only upset her more because _goddammit_ this is about Jason.

Then last year she took him out for dinner. She’d saved up the money, planned the reservation, steamed her nicest dress and his nicest suit so that when he came home that afternoon it was all laid out. They took a cab and right as their feet hit the sidewalk, a man ran past toting a mother-of-two’s purse. Jason went into action in a snap and chased the man down, gave him a few licks, and suddenly their reservation was swept aside to walk this mother back to her apartment and Jason even said, “You start dinner without me, I’ll catch up.”

She had stood in the street, wearing a blue dress that had made its home in the back of her closet and heels that cramped her toes, feeling like the biggest idiot ever. “_Without_ you?” The yelling Jason got in the middle of the street had drawn attention and she ended up crying again because that seems to be the only thing she’s capable of on Jason’s birthday. He apologized, realizing how awful he’d sounded, but again, that’s not what had mattered.

“You do so much, Jason,” she had said, face red and nose runny, heels in hand because she couldn’t stand being in them a second longer. “Maybe it’s just some day to you, but it’s my excuse to…I don’t know! Shower you in gifts! Be nice! I think it’s the least you deserve!”

“You do that for me every day,” he’d said in a voice much too sweet for her fragile state. That got her crying for another ten minutes before he could calm her back down, and then they went back home and fell asleep in their clothes. The next day, Jason came back from his nightly prowl with money from some criminal to cover the cost of the missed reservation.

Year three and she’s deciding to do this Jason’s way: A night in, a nicely-made cake, and a small gift. This is more their speed; ever since they started dating, their nights spent together were never out in Gotham. Firstly for safety’s sake, and secondly because neither of them really need to flaunt their love or do anything drastic to have a good time. As cheesy as it certainly sounds, they really only need each other. 

It takes twenty minutes to talk herself down and admit that the cake is alright. Icing it is a little difficult and some pieces scrape off with the knife, but she mutters over and over that it’s fine, it’s ok, he won’t notice. She only notices because she’s been obsessively picking apart every detail of the damn thing. And the writing on top…it’s good. Short and sweet: ‘Happy Birthday Jason!’ Or maybe it’s too unoriginal…

_Stop. He won’t give a shit._

With the cake covered in candles and set in the fridge, she goes to the bedroom and stares in the closet for about fifteen minutes, picking at this and that and wondering what he’ll like best. No, no, no—if this is going to be done Jason’s way, she’s not gonna even care what she wears. She keeps on the tank top and drawstring shorts she’s been wearing all day, throws her hair up in a bun, and waits.

The first thing she did after Jason left this morning—he always seems to want to be alone for most of his birthday—was wrap his present. It’s the one thing she can confidently say is perfect. Wrapping gifts has always been her forte; it has to do with how diligent she is. Every corner perfectly tucked, the tape aligned with the paper. Hopefully he actually likes it. God, now that she thinks about it, it might be too childish of a gift—

The key turns in the lock and in comes Jason. She’d never say it out loud—for his sake and to preserve her embarrassment—but he’s only person she’s ever met that the sight of calms her right down. Breathing feels easier. Talking comes easier. One of her biggest insecurities is that she loves him more than he loves her. _He’s crazy about you,_ is all she ever hears, but she thinks they’re just not realizing how crazy _she_ is about _him_. 

“Hi, honey,” she says. She kneels on the couch and leans over the back of it. Jason makes a beeline to her and she wraps her arms around his neck as he ducks down to kiss her cheek. He whispers a hello in her ear the way she loves, her shoulder hunching against the tickle of his hot breath. 

“How was your day off?”

“Good,” she says, hands smoothing down his chest. “How’s Roy?”

“He’s…alright. I might drop by next week again.”

“Is that all you did today?”

Jason’s eyes are gentle. “No. You know me. I walked around, beat up a few bad guys…”

“My knight in shining armor.”

“You joke, but…”

“But you are?”

“Y’know, me and Lancelot have quite a lot in common—“

“Oh, _God_.”

Jason has a lovely laugh: it sits tucked in his chest and the base of his throat, guttural yet light. When she’s laying on him, it makes her bones hum and she feels the warmth spread through her like honey. The first time she made him laugh, her only thought was, _I could spend the rest of my life trying to make him do that again_, and then right after that it was, _Oh no_.

“I have something for you,” she says.

For a split second, there’s a waver in Jason’s ease. She catches it only because she knows him so well. “Yeah?” Tentative, cautious.

“Sit at the table.” She taps his nose before leaping off the couch, her bare feet smacking against the floor. She points at him accusingly. “And keep your eyes closed.”

“You ordering me around, sugar?” he says as he makes his way to the kitchen. As he throws himself into a chair, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, he shuts his eyes. “You better be naked when I open them back up.”

She snorts. “In your dreams, pretty boy.”

Opening the fridge silently is hard, but she manages as best she can. She sits the cake in front of Jason, glancing up in his face momentarily to see him biting down a smile. “Something funny?”

“I can hear you trying to be quiet. You’d make a bad vigilante.”

For that, she flicks his ear and he lets out a small chuckle, hanging his head.

She grabs the present where she hid it in the cupboard above the microwave. She lays it beside the cake.

Last to do is shut off the lights. It’s mid-afternoon and the sun is still out, but the curtains dispel most of it. She wishes it were nighttime—more atmospheric—but this’ll have to do. She grabs the lighter from off the counter and holds it at her back, and says from beside him, “Alright, smart mouth, open up.”

He does, and his face gets serious. He leans forward, peering at the writing on top. “Did you buy this?”

“I made it.”

“No shit,” says Jason. “Did you really?”

“Yes. Do you like it?”

“I love it. Holy shit, it looks great.”

“I know it’s small, but it’s just the two of us and—“

“I love it, sugar,” he echoes. He looks up at her and loops an arm around her waist. With a yelp she falls into his lap, almost sitting on the lighter in hand. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

Ridiculously, like its the beginning of their relationship all over again, her face heats up. “It’s not that big of a deal, Jason.”

“It is to me. Thank you,” he says, and kisses her on the mouth. His hand grips her thigh, big fingers spreading and taking hold. The joy in her is indescribable. It’s such a relief, making him this happy. His lips find her’s a second time, searching more deeply and taking his time. Her arms wrap around his neck, legs crossed at the ankle. He hums lowly. “This might be the best present I’ve ever gotten,” he says as his voice darkens (dangerously) and his hands wander (dangerously).

“Did you notice the actual wrapped present on the table?”

“What about the one right in my lap?”

Somehow her face gets hotter. It’s hard to say no when he gets like this, but she persists: “Gift first.”

She grabs the present—Jason’s hands on her hips as she leans, making a small sound in the back of his throat—and hands it to him. He shoots her a glance as he opens it up, his hand falling away from her leg as she drapes an arm across his shoulders and gently rubs his opposite arm.

When the wrapping falls away, Jason stiffens. For the second time he sobers up and seems at a loss of words. He turns the book over in his hands, staring at every inch of it as if afraid that if he blinks it’ll all go away. “[Name]…”

“What do you think?” she asks, chewing her bottom lip.

“It’s…Jesus, this must’ve cost a fortune.”

“It didn’t, and that’s not what matters.”

“This is my favorite book,” he says dumbly. “Is this a first edition? I’ve never seen this copy before.”

“It is. Or so they told me.”

“They?”

“I got it online.”

He opens the book and thumbs through it. She recognizes the new book smell immediately, failing to hide a smile. The pages are smooth as silk. _The Island of Dr. Moreau_. Jason is a big reader, but that seems to be the one he’s always coming back to. That, and _Lost Horizon_, but she knows how much more this one means to him.

Although they technically live together, Jason keeps his distance for her safety. Everything in here is hers, and she hates that very fact. She encourages Jason to buy more things that he likes, even sometimes offering to pay for it herself. But he’s scared of settling down. Making things official, in his words, puts her in danger. If she didn’t know Jason so well, she’d take it personally.

He owns a few books, but they’re tattered beyond repair from years of use and he usually just goes to a library. But to have this?

“This is…fucking insane. Thank you. So much.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, a little bashful.

Jason lays the book on the table and grips her closer. She practically falls against his mouth, hands coming up to his cheeks as he kisses her deeply. His hand presses to the small of her back to keep her near. The relief washing over her is baptismal. After all the dwelling and worrying, Jason is happy. Damn, did she really nail it this year? It took three tries, but she got there.

Suddenly, with a squeal, she’s being lifted up. Jason seats her on the edge of the table, standing between her thighs and leans her backward until she’s resting on her palms. His mouth trails sloppily up her bared throat and jaw as she gasps out, “What about the cake?”

Jason slips out of his jacket and tosses it to the floor. He’s so much larger than her, hulking and a little intimidating. Sometimes she’s reminded that this burly figure is the last thing people see standing over them before their lights are cut out. It’s the scariest thing for those awful men, that terrible sight, and yet all she can think when she sees him is how good he looks when his lips are swollen they way they are right now, his hair tousled from her playing through it, and the slightly dazed, drunken look in his eyes that means he has only one thing on his mind. How can Jason be these two different people and switch with such ease?

She has forgotten what she even asked when he whispers, “I’m not doubting your baking skills, but I can guarantee you taste much sweeter.” His voice is husky, the darkness of the room lending itself to a more amorous climate. 

He kisses her neck again, hands working at the string of her shorts. When they loosen, they join his jacket on the floor. He grabs the back of her knees and yanks her to the edge of the table. His thighs are ridiculously muscular, a source of many of her daydreams, and they keep her thighs spread as he works at undoing her bun until the hair falls around her shoulders, the touch of his fingers running through them giving her spidery chills.

“Not fair,” she says against his mouth, and pulls away to help him out of his shirt. He lets her with ease and her arms swing around his neck and she lets herself tip backward.

The table is cool against the inch of skin that has been bared on her back. Her thighs are only halfway on the table, but they clench Jason’s hips, desperate for some sort of support as the heat builds up within her. His fingers trail up and down the skin of her legs, teasing, and it quivers under his touch, making her squeeze harder.

“Wait,” she says. An idea. She sits up, the sudden absence of Jason’s lips disappointing, and dips a finger along the edge of the cake. It’s cold and when she drags the frosting down his chest, he inhales sharply through the nose.

She holds Jason’s hips as she leans up to lick up the trail of frosting. It’s sugary-sweet—she mentally pats herself on the back for how good it tastes—but truthfully the hum that comes from Jason’s throat is much, much better.

She takes more and sloppily runs it along his jaw. She sits higher and licks that up too, the heat of his skin making her stomach curl inward. “Hm. Look at that,” she whispers, “you taste just as sweet.”

“You’re killing me, sugar,” he mutters, his voice taking an edge. And when she reaches for his belt, Jason pushes her hand away and tuts. “It’s your turn.”

“Jason—“

“None of the birthday bullshit. You know what I want?” His mouth finds her ear, the breath hot and tickling. “I want those pretty little legs of yours to be melting by the time I’m done with you.”

A hitch in her breathing as the words go right between her legs. A part of her wants to protest that this really is his day, but she knows not to argue with him in this mood. And, selfishly, she wants him to do whatever he pleases with her.

Jason falls to his knees. His hands wrap like a bracelet around each of her calves as he drags her to the very edge of the table until she’s almost falling off of it. He forces her legs apart, pressing feather-light kisses to her soft thighs. Her chest heaves in anticipation; he hasn’t even really touched her and she’s already wanting to fall apart. 

Jason doesn’t even bother taking off her underwear. He wraps his hands within it and pulls the fabric aside.

The first touch of his hot mouth makes her gasp. She’s sitting upright, a hand moving through his hair, the straps of her tank top falling down her arms, as Jason works his mouth against her. Soft, gentle licks—teasing even more—but it doesn’t take long for the broader strokes that maker her skin tingle. She eases back against the table, back arching, working hard not to smother him.

A steady stream of pants and moans escape her and she’s too enthralled to even be embarrassed. When she calls his name like a song, he chuckles, the vibration making her keen. It’s taking everything in her not to just ride his face and use him for her own pleasure; she so badly needs to feel him everywhere.

Her fingers thread through his hair, needing him even closer, gently tugging on the strands. Whenever she does, she can imagine the desire coursing through Jason as he squeezes her thighs tighter and forces them farther apart even as she fights to close them, hopelessly overwhelmed. Her back arches with a deep moan and she hears Jason says, “You’re so good, sugar. So good for me.”

No matter what it doesn’t seem to be enough. “More, Jay,” she whispers, and impossibly his tongue finds deeper corners in her. She keens, feeling it building up, and knows she isn’t going to last longer. Three years of Jason learning more and more what pushes her over the edge and what doesn’t. He knows her body better than even she does.

When she comes, she’s louder than she should be and pulls a little too hard on his hair, but Jason doesn’t seem to mind. He helps her ride it out, running fingers up and down her thighs as he continues licking her up. She’s shaky and eventually has to tap Jason’s head with her finger: _It’s too much_. 

Jason stands up, licking his lips, which is much sexier than she could’ve ever imagined. He slides his hands up her hips and fits them to the small of her waist, the tank top following with it. “This needs to go,” he says, and she lifts her back for him to slip it off. “I’m stealing your idea, sugar,” and grabs a swipe of frosting, trailing it along her breast. The coolness of the frosting makes her stomach dip with shock, but it’s eased as his tongue, hot and wet, follows the path until his teeth graze her nipple. Her breathing comes in heavier, chest rising and falling into his mouth.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers after finishing with the other breast. 

“Let me return the favor.” Her voice surprises herself, not expecting it to sound so quiet yet so heavy. When Jason shakes his head, she says, “I wanna,” almost desperate. She wants to bring out those noises in him; she wants him to be begging for her the way she always seems to be for him.

“Later,” he says. “Right now I just want you.”

She helps Jason out of his jeans and next his boxers. She’s nearly feverish with anticipation, hair a wild halo around her head as she takes him in her hand. He’s hard, and breathes deeply when her hand follows his length, up and down, and his head falls backward, Adam’s apple bobbing. Her thumb rubs against the wet tip, pulling more and more beautiful sounds out of his mouth. Each one sets a new fire aflame in her, desperate. She’s the only one that ever hears him like this. The mere thought makes her legs want to squeeze together.

But Jason eventually says, “Stop. Stop.” His voice is shaking, right on the edge. “I want you.”

He leans her back against the table and holds her legs apart as he sinks inside. They both shudder, their breath hitting each other, as they take a moment to adjust. Jason starts at his usual steady pace, easing into the feeling, until she wraps her legs around his middle, setting him at a new angle and he hits more deeply in her. She tips her head back, arms around his neck, and moans with each thrust. 

Her nails dig in his shoulder blades as Jason picks up the pace, whispering nonsense and praises into her ear. The sound of their hips meeting is carnal and makes her chest red, but on the other hand she is so far past the point of caring that it hardly registers. All she knows is his touch and his mouth and him inside of her and his voice in her ear urging her on.

She concentrates on his gentle, barely-held gasps and moans and it doesn’t take long for her to come for a second time, and Jason isn’t so far behind. He stiffens, gripping her hip so hard that she knows there’ll be a bruise. 

They take a minute to get their breathing back in order, to stop the stuttering of their hearts. “I was…” she starts, gathering herself enough to finish: “I was gonna get dressed up for you later.”

Jason huffs a laugh, his sweaty forehead on her chest. “You still can if you want to.” He lifts his head and runs his fingers down the side of her face, and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She isn’t sure if it was on purpose or if he missed, but it makes her smile. “First, some cake. Then the bedroom. I didn’t say I’m done with you just yet.”


End file.
